


Saturday Morning

by pocky_slash



Series: Iowa [6]
Category: West Wing
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-07
Updated: 2009-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Saturday, a wonderful, completely leisurely Saturday. There's nowhere to be, nothing to do, and Will can probably make Sam turn the heat up for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Morning

Winter in Iowa is like nothing Will has ever experienced before. It's frigid and desolate, but there's a beauty to it that could never be replicated in the city. The snow stays pristine for longer, unsoiled by grey slush and noisy plows. The light filters in through intricate ice crystals in the morning, sun glittering as it peeks over the horizon, and despite the morning chill, it's a world worth waking up to.

Not quite a world worth getting out of bed for, however.

Last night, the temperature dipped down below five degrees Fahrenheit, and Will can tell, without even looking at the thermometer hanging outside, that it hasn't gotten up much higher than that. The temperature inside probably isn't any better, and were it a weekday morning, Will would have to creep out of bed, turn up the thermostat, and get ready for work while trying to avoid standing on the freezing floors for too long.

He grins, though, and burrows further under the covers, because it's Saturday, a wonderful, completely leisurely Saturday. There's nowhere to be, nothing to do, and he can probably make Sam turn the heat up for him.

He presses his freezing nose to the back of Sam's neck and leaves it there until Sam rolls over and they're staring at each other in the pale January light.

"Hi," Sam says, and then closes his eyes again and tucks his head under Will's chin. "It's early. You're off. Go back to sleep."

"It's cold," Will insists. He can't stop his body from wrapping itself around Sam's, though. He's past the point of needing excuses to be close to Sam, but he still tells himself that he's just curled around Sam like a second skin because he's radiating the warmth that must have been baked into his skin since his childhood in California.

"It's not cold here," Sam says. He kisses Will's collarbone and hums under his breath.

"I'm cold," Will says.

"Then turn the thermostat up," Sam says. Will doesn't say anything, but he glances down at Sam expectantly. Even with his mind addled by sleep, he knows Sam will get the hint.

He does.

He cracks one eye open and peers up at Will. "I'm not the one who's cold," he says.

"I'm not the one who went to bed at ten," Will points out, pressing his nose into Sam's hair in an attempt to warm it up again.

"That's not fair," Sam says. "I only went to bed at ten because I was up at six and running around. We should really consider going to sleep with the thermostat set higher."

"It's a waste of energy," Will reminds him. "You were in bed for two full hours longer than I was."

"But I wasn't sleeping for most of that!" Sam insists. "I was waiting for you. You know, with my eyes closed." Will doesn't move. Neither does Sam. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" Sam suggests, and if Will smiles slyly, it's only because he knows that means he's already won. Will's never seen Sam throw anything over than paper. This battle is already over.

"One," Will says slowly into Sam's hair, "two, three, shoot."

Will's scissors beat Sam's paper every time.

"You owe me," Sam says, but there's no threat to it, only the warm thread of affection that simmers ever present beneath the surface of their interactions, the same way Sam's skin is always warm and soothing to the touch.

"Come back into bed when you're done and I'll work towards paying off my debt," Will promises as Sam leans over and kisses his forehead.

Sam winces as he slips from beneath the covers, careful to keep the blankets down, sealing the warmth underneath them. He sprints out of the bedroom on tiptoes, muttering the entire time about slippers and robes and birthday presents. Will sits up enough to watch, pulling the blankets around his shoulders as he does so, watching Sam with an almost embarrassing fondness. He has creases on his face from the folds in the pillowcase, his hair is sticking up in fifty different directions, and he's hopping from foot to foot on the chilly hallway linoleum. He looks ridiculous, but if it were about ten degrees warmer in the bedroom, Will would be out of bed, in the hallway, and pouncing on top of him, smoothing down each stubborn tuft of hair, kissing the bright pink crisscross on his cheek.

If it was ten degrees warmer in the bedroom, Will wouldn't have made Sam get up in the first place. Or maybe he would have, just to see this delightful show on his one morning off this week. It makes his heart swell with something he's not too keen to put his finger on. As much as he loves words, loves building sentences and descriptions, longs to record everything around him on paper for future generations, he's afraid to put words to this enormous thing he feels for Sam Seaborn. He doesn't want to do anything that might take the magic away.

Sam comes hopping back into the room and shoots back into bed, immediately rewrapping his limbs around Will with a shiver.

"Happy?" he asks. Will smiles.

"Yeah," he says. "You?"

Sam is caught by surprise by the question. "Yeah," he says, grinning.

"Warm?" Will asks.

"Working on it," Sam says. "Tired, mostly."

"Well, then, go back to sleep," Will says. He tucks the blankets around their bodies, sealing them in from the outside world. "It's Saturday. We can sleep all day, and now, when we wake up, it'll be warm."

"Mm," Sam says, resting his head on Will's shoulder again, "good thinking. But maybe we should invest in a robot to turn the temperature up for us."

"Or replace the dial with something digital that has a timer," Will says dryly. Sam closes his eyes with the ghost of a smile.

"That, too," he says.

"A few more hours," Will says, settling back down. "We'll have a warm house, and if you set the timer on the coffeemaker, we'll even have coffee."

Sam's eyes snap open again and his body tenses. After five endless seconds, he relaxes again.

"I can live without coffee," he murmurs. He secures his arms around Will's chest and closes his eyes again.

Will smiles to himself. He can live without coffee too.


End file.
